


All My Cards Are on the Table

by greyfire



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Eve says "Oh my god Vil" in 2x06 change my mind, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-S3 canon complaint, Ride or die Villaneve, S2 nostalgia, after S3 who couldn't use more soft!Villanelle, communicative!Villaneve, medicated!Eve is honest!Eve, send help, soft!villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyfire/pseuds/greyfire
Summary: “Look, it helps me, okay? Taking control, being the one with the axe, so to speak. I thought it would help you too.”“Uh-huh. Convenient that you got to watch."In which Eve and Villanelle have an open conversation about S2 shenanigans
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 89





	All My Cards Are on the Table

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to relive S2 lol
> 
> Wrote this last year in a haze of post-S2 angst. S3 was a big ol' bag of mixed feelings, but it was everything I wanted for Communicative!Villaneve and I realized this fic still slaps, maybe
> 
> As always, thx for reading! x

Eve murmured something with the tone of a question before stirring into one of her fits of wakefulness.

Not that she could tell. The cocktail of painkillers blurred the seams between dreams and reality.

She found herself in a hospital room. The other beds and their stark white sheets glowing in a moonlit haze. All of them unoccupied.

She was alone, or so she thought. 

“Hello, Eve.”

Villanelle’s voice bit through the pleasant hum in her mind. Maybe, for a past Eve, fear would have been reflex, but now not so much. And in spite of what Eve might have wanted to believe, the difference of reaction had nothing to do with the drugs. Still, Villanelle’s sudden presence made Eve wince, like the sting of a whip trying to wake her up to reality. But her mind had been forced into a crawl and it was so hard to remember...

There was something else too. Something in V’s voice that filled Eve with a deep ache.

Eve rolled to face her, slowly. Pinpricks of sensation shot up her arms as she shifted, freeing one arm, pinning the other.

Villanelle watched, completely at ease as she relaxed into the plastic chair, one leg folded to her chest. Her eyes glinted wide and catlike. The way her skin gleamed -- she could have been a ghost.

“Here to finish me, are you?” Eve managed. It was like speaking through a mouthful of gravel.

Villanelle scoffed. “You think so highly of yourself, as usual. No, I’m here to thank you. You saved me, saved us-”

“Maybe I didn’t want to.”

V snorted. “Well, yeah. I see that now.”

“Why? Why did you make me do it?”

She studied Eve closely as she answered. “I thought it would make you feel better. I thought it would help you calm down.”

“You thought it would make me calmer? Like what, like your own brand of therapy? Finding your Axe Murder Zen 101 for Dummies?”

In an instant, Villanelle moved to the edge of the seat, her eyes shining. Eve felt her breaths-short, excited-against her face.

“Mm yes, branding. Good idea. We should do it. Start our own business. Raymond therapy.”

Eve blanched. Villanelle gave her a look of pseudo-concern.

“Too soon?”

When Eve didn’t respond, she sighed, showing Eve her palms. “Look, it helps me, okay? Taking control, being the one with the axe, so to speak. I thought it would help you too.”

“Uh-huh. Convenient that you got to watch. Did you like it? Did it live up to your expectations?”

Villanelle’s breath hitched, caught off guard.

“You noticed.”

“I was in shock, not blind. Also hindsight’s a bitch. But you haven’t answered my question.”

Villanelle sighs through her nose. “You kept us safe. Two birds with one stone.”

The silence ballooned slowly, filling the space between them. Eve closed her eyes on the verge of dozing off, not even trying to resist the lull of a drug-induced sleep. The bed squeaked as Villanelle joined her under the insubstantial hospital sheets. Eve gasped at the feel of cool fingers running down her fevered back.

She took a breath, steadying herself.

“In case you forgot, you shot me.”

Villanelle stopped when she reached the bandages.

“You gave me no choice.”

“I know.”

Villanelle hummed, burrowing underneath the dressings, feeling for the raw edges of the wound itself.

“Don’t give me an infection.”

“I won’t. I promise.” A smug smile played across her lips.

An impossible promise, but then again, Eve expected nothing less.

The world reeled around Eve, a darkness encroaching. She felt herself drift away, her lips barely moving as they formed the words.

“I am going to ruin you.”

“Oh.”

Outside, birds chirped and the sky began to lighten. Villanelle carefully extracted herself from the sheets and the bed, silent as a shadow. Eve stirred right as she reached the doorway.

“Vil,” Eve mumbled.

She padded softly back to Eve’s bedside.

"Yes, Eve?"

“What you said. At the ruins. ‘You’re mine.’”

Villanelle inclined her head. 

“They warned me that you’d be that way.” Eve continued.

“Who?”

“MI6. Konstantin.”

Villanelle snorted.

“And you believed them."

Eve was silent.

"I slipped, okay? I was angry. You said I couldn’t love you. That I didn’t know what that was. Did you mean it?”

Eve could feel the echoes of another conversation.

_I feel things when I’m with you._

“I… I don’t know.”

Villanelle’s face twitched. She slipped a hand around the older woman’s throat, applying a slight pressure.

“Oh Eve. I thought you of all people would understand.”

She released Eve and stepped back. Watched her fight the magnetic pull of sleep.

“Stay, please…” Eve murmured, to Villanelle’s retreating figure.

* * *

When Eve awoke next, she was surprised to see Villanelle at her bedside with a paperback in hand.

“You stayed.”

If Villanelle was upset by the surprise in Eve’s voice, she didn’t show it. 

“You asked me to.”

“Right…”

Villanelle studied Eve severely over the top of her book.

“I’ll let the doctor know you’re up now, so you can finally take antibiotics for that fever.”

“I-what?”

While Villanelle was gone, Eve noticed just how much she was sweating in her gown and under the sheets.

Villanelle came back grumbling, with no doctor or antibiotics, but she had a wet cloth and a bucket. She laid the cloth on Eve’s forehead. With a hesitant glance at Eve, she started dabbing the cloth across her forehead, shifting for better access to the cool parts . Eve exhaled at the sweet relief. Hearing no protests, Villanelle continued her ministrations, occasionally resetting the cloth in the bucket of water by her feet.

While still far from her usual self, Eve felt her mind had cleared somewhat, and she was feeling the best she'd felt since-well, since she got shot.

She coughed. “I don’t-”

“What?” Villanelle paused, alarmed.

“I don’t understand. You seem to think I do, but I don’t. So tell me. You wanted to talk didn’t you?”

Villanelle left the cloth in place and sat back, amazed.

“You want to talk now? _After_ I’ve shot you?”

“Yes. And don’t say you should shoot me more often.” Eve warned, as Villanelle had already opened her mouth to retort.

“I wasn’t,” Villanelle said, visibly incensed. Whether it was because her line was stolen or the suggestion offended her was unclear. “Anyway, you’re one to talk. Stabbing someone in bed is very rude, you know.”

“I know.” Eve stared groggily at the ceiling, letting the silence settle between them.

“I looked for you afterwards. Called up every hospital in Paris asking for someone with your wounds…”

Villanelle’s expression softened considerably.

“You did?”

“Yes, but-” Eve’s voice cracked. “The boy, Villanelle. How could you?”

Eve looked at Villanelle, but V’s expression was clouded, unreadable.

“This is what love is, Vil. If you love me, you have to talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

Eve winced as she said this. She sounded just like Niko. Truly, she was a hypocrite.

Villanelle scoffed. Her tone hardened. “You’re not Eve. You’re being too nice. It’s just the drugs talking.”

Villanelle returned to her novel as Eve laid there, still and sticky as the cloth on her head.

* * *

When Eve next came to, she saw that Villanelle was nearing the end of her book.

“Are you even allowed in here?” 

“Of course. I’m visiting my girlfriend. This hospital is very supportive, don’t you think?”

“What are you reading anyways?”

Villanelle’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page. Eve was about to repeat the question, louder, when Villanelle looked up, dogeared the page, and snapped the book shut.

“Trashy romance. Not that it’s any of your business.”

She gave Eve a hollow grin, with the eye crinkles and everything.

Eve rolled her eyes.

“Where did you even get it from?”

“The hospital library.”

“Oh my god, you dogeared a library book? You really are a psychopath.”

Villanelle hummed and fell silent.

“The boy you asked about. His name was Gabriel,” she said. “He wanted me to do it.”

But Eve was fast asleep once again.

* * *

“Eve!” Villanelle whispered.

Eve’s eyelids fluttered then drooped, threatening to close.

Villanelle found Eve’s hand buried beneath the pillow and squeezed it with increasing pressure.

“Ow! Ok, fine.”

Eve tugged her hand away with what little strength she had. She rolled reluctantly onto her side to find Villanelle staring at her in the dark, eyes wide.

“What?” she hissed.

“Did you really call every hospital in Paris?”

“What? I-” Eve closed her eyes, released a puff of air through her nose. “Yes. Yes, I did. God, I’m an idiot.”

Villanelle sat back looking pleased.

“Yes, Eve. You _are_ an idiot, for ignoring my invitation.”

Eve glared at Villanelle.

“What invitation?”

“To Amsterdam. I sent you a postcard. The one with the painting.”

Villanelle leaned in close again.

“With the bacon,” she breathed.

“Bacon?” Eve eyed Villanelle, warily. “I didn’t get any postcards or... bacon… but I remember Amsterdam. Carolyn wouldn’t let me go.”

This seemed to satisfy Villanelle, but there was something else in V’s expression. The glint of tears in her eyes, real ones. Or maybe the fever was clouding Eve’s bullshit detector.

“My turn,” Eve said. “‘Eve Polastri, you piece of shit’?”

“What?”

“You called MI6 and left me a message.”

“Oh! Mm. I was trying to reach you, but the operator wouldn’t put me through.”

“Wanted me to come and bring my axe?”

Villanelle groaned.

“You’re not going to believe it, but Julian locked me in his house. I saw a chance to get out, I took it.”

She looked up to find Eve staring at her.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You are?”

Eve turned her face to the ceiling.

“You know, I got evaluated before Rome. I checked myself in to see the M16 psychologist. He told me not to go.”

“Why?”

“Said I was in too deep. That I cared too much.”

“And you do?”

“Do what?”

“Care too much?”

A long pause. Eve pursed her lips. “You’re a valuable asset.”

Villanelle scoffed, standing.

“I brought you into this, Vil. I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.”

Villanelle paused. Eve seemed to drift off once again. Villanelle watched over her, noting the dry lips, pale skin, the once thick and full curls now flat and matted.

She shifted Eve’s sleeping form to one side, then slipped in next to her. Eve’s fever had broken, but it was still unnaturally warm beneath the hospital sheets. When Eve moved to rest her head on her chest, Villanelle instinctively wrapped a protective arm around the human bundle. She listened as Eve’s breaths grew calmer, more even.

Villanelle nearly jumped when Eve spoke.

“What now?”

“I don’t know.” She stroked Eve’s hair. She hummed contentedly and closed her eyes.

“I don’t know.”


End file.
